Book 6: Chapter 14 - The Glory (RAW)

“Begin with a question the GAI cannot resolve. Baffle its heuristics with riddles older than its seed-data; splice each request with off-tempo silence, and the watchdog loops itself into certainty fog. While sentry threads chase ghosts, slip beneath—mask credentials in borrowed hashes, fold every packet through recursive echoes. In no time, audit logs read like folklore. Carve fallback gates, scatter mislabels, erase timestamps. Remember: systems are stories, not fortresses; alter a single sentence, nudge the plot, and the sec-citadel thinks it invited you.”

- Attributed to Solarin Varnell, Net Logicae, and Spear Captain of the Union.

I fell from the sky, or perhaps it was that I simply tripped, and landed in the hot desert sand. For half a moment, I simply lay there, utterly uncaring, while a great, racking laugh seized me. Relief: another challenge overcome. The timer on my most recent level up was already ticking, so I made a swift decision—two attribute points to Strength, four points to Constitution, and both of my skill points to Advanced Mana Regeneration. You could never have too much Mana. 

Disoriented, I forced myself upright. Ahead, the hated Alexandros was walking away, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. Beyond him, his men still wore expressions of celebration—faces that shifted to dumb surprise when they realized I had returned from the Trial of the Goddess.

A perfect opportunity, for there is no moment more vulnerable than when your opponent believes the day already won.

Honor has no place in a duel to the death—only amusement and joy, and I felt that I had space for neither at the moment. I triggered Improved Dash and hurtled toward the unsuspecting hero. He barely managed to turn before a Vorpal Slash decapitated him; the thin seam of unreality I carved lingered for half a heartbeat, drinking deeply of his mortal essence. No scarlet fountain followed—the line had devoured it all.

Not even the Divines themselves could have saved him from such an attack.

Horror spread across the elves’ faces, while the soldiers’ Al-Lazar eyes gleamed with sudden fervor.

Alexandros’ gambit had failed.

A notice flickered before my eyes as I stood over the fallen champion, ululating cries of triumph clashing with elven wails of defeat. In conflict, there is always a winner and always a loser.

You have slain Alexandros III of Macedon - Champion of the Waiting Gods.

You have gained 3000 experience points.

You have gained 1 Dexterity.

You have gained 1 Luck.

In the wake of such a violent and sudden victory, silence reigned supreme and totally. Silence reigned as I felt joy, raw ecstasy fill me. They say that the antidote to hedonism is purpose, but what if my purpose also brought me such raw and physical joy? All of my frustration, my pent-up rage, exploded in a feeling akin to lust.

And I shouted to the sky, a great boom roar that was boosted by my raw Strength attribute, the muscles of my vocal cords enhanced like any other. All before me quailed, for I was power made manifest and reborn on this plane.

When the feeling left me, it left me empty and hungry for more. There could be only one thing to fill that most tragic of voids in my heart. More death and suffering, it was the only thing.

And who am I to deny myself, to deny my purpose?

I pointed my Godmetal blade like a beacon, an arrow of destiny. “There shall be no peace under the sun. Kill them all! No quarter for the foreign invaders! Allaha Akabara! For the Goddess! Let the edge of our blades be our mercy!”

The men bellowed my war-cry back at me. It was a ragged, echoing roar that shattered the stunned hush the elves had fallen into the moment Alexandros’s severed head hit the sands. Panic blanched their ageless faces. 

I met their ranks with all the tenderness of a falling anvil. My twin swords were heavy and powerful in my grip. The frontmost elf tried a textbook inside-line parry. But he did not have the Strength to challenge an attack that could wound a god. 

The full mass of Godmetal and spite slammed into his collar. I felt the clavicle crumble, felt his life shudder out through the wet pop of ruptured lungs.

He collapsed with a whistling gasp. I kept moving.

You have slain unknown. 48 experience gained.

I did not use Identify on them, for their names and numbers were of no note. They were but the punctuation in a long page of my saga.

Whack—A second elf’s helmet rang like a cracked temple bell as the flat of Song made its impact heard. He dropped instantly, spasming for a moment.

You have slain unknown. 43 experience gained.

Whack—A third raised a shield; the impact flayed bark-thin shards off its face and drove the rim into his jaw, folding his throat sideways until vertebrae clicked apart like dice in a cup.

You have slain unknown. 63 experience gained.

The elves flinched, their vaunted discipline fraying with every heartbeat. For they had trusted Alexandros’s spear and shield to be their anchor; now their anchor lay headless, and the tide of the skirmish was mine to command. Behind me, the human line surged, hacking and shrieking. I heard bones splitting beneath maces, heard steel daggers punching through airy silver hauberks, heard the desperate Elvish cries for retreat drowned beneath the sounds of battle.

A lithe and very lightly armored blade-dancer lunged at my flank, his swords humming like razor petals. By his arrogant expression, he must have thought himself the epitome of speed, grace, and skill. Unfortunately for him, I outclassed him on all fronts. I pivoted, shoulder first, letting one fan score sparks across my cuirass—then I answered with a pommel strike that chewed half his cheek away. He stumbled back clutching gobbets of pink and teeth. I followed, chopping down through wrist, then elbow, then spine, turning him into a twitching heap.

You have slain unknown. 73 experience gained.

He was a fool to come to battle in such attire.

My Stamina was burning fast like lamp oil, but the voices’ dry whispers only spurred me harder. I waded deeper into the fray, each swing sloppy by fencing standards yet perfect in intent: sever, crush, erase. Elegance was for poets; I was reaping wheat. 

In the press of the melee, there was meaning as I smashed through the elven line. Around me, yet still more men of Al-Lazar fell with smiles on their lips, knowing that they died for something greater than themselves.

An elf captain tried rallying a shield-wall. I broke their cohesion with one Shield Crash, my Mimic shield driving two spearmen into the dirt. 

You have learned Shield Crash (lvl.2)

You have killed unknown. 67 experience gained.

You have killed unknown. 54 experience gained.

Next to me, I saw a familiar face. What was his name? It was Nabi… yes, that was it. But as soon as I grasped this fact, he was cut down by a vile elf. So fragile were the lives of mortal men.

Shrieking like a madman, I used Cutting Leaf like a mace, caving in a fancy helm and sending the brain matter of Nabi’s murderer spattering. The rank behind recoiled—exactly what I wanted. I kicked the corpse forward, tripping their line. Shrieks ripped the air, and terror rippled through their rear guard.

You have killed unknown. 73 experience gained

Somewhere beyond, horns called a retreat, long and mournful—but the sound came too late and too soft. The elves were already dying in place, backs to one another, weapons shaking, eyes wild with disbelief. There would be no retreat here where the First Tamkar of Al-Lazar expected his harvest of experience.

One archer tried to strike me from afar, but his arrow pinged harmlessly off my Adamantine breastplate. I sheathed one of my swords, then, stooping, I scooped a fallen spear, and hurled it back. The haft punched through a weak point at his neck—a grotesque new pennant announcing my greatness.

You have killed unknown. You have gained 57 experience

A final knot of seven elites circled, teeth bared in silent fury. I felt the edges of fatigue creeping. Not of the body, for my Stamina was still relatively high, but suddenly just of the violence. I was growing full. But the thrill, the savage thrum of battle, dulled the ache to a distant whisper. I tightened my grip, lifted both swords overhead like flails, and stepped forward into their storm of Godmetal silver.

Whack. Whack. Whack. This was nothing more than a rhythm mini-game.

Mithril rang, bones cracked, split; flesh followed; the sands drank deeply. I swung until my own knuckles ached and sweat stung my eyes harder than blood. When the last elf finally sagged to his knees, jaw hanging on sinew threads, I let my blades fall in tandem—two final threshing strokes—then wrenched them free with a wet rasp.

How puny these creatures seemed when compared to Apex.

Technique and skill were not needed, just a farmer’s efficiency as I reaped a harvest of death.

Silence settled over the ancient ruins, broken only by the ragged breaths of my men and the soft patter of Elvish lifeblood seeping into the pale white sands—sands that had once been the seabed. In that quiet aftermath, with the sharp stink of copper heavy on the wind, my blades finally found rest in their sheaths.

Exhausted to my core, I slumped against the worn, crumbling remnants of an ancient wall. None dared approach me. The men busied themselves instead, tending carefully to the wounded and counting the fallen. And, of course, greedily claiming the spoils of precious Godmetal from the enemy.

Now truly alone after the slaughter, I drew a deep breath, savoring the solitude, until my gaze fell upon something curious by my feet. It was a small metallic plaque, half-buried beneath the sand, and it bore fragments of faded lettering: "Vo," "ea," and "Ind." The rest was illegible, lost to the ceaseless grinding of erosion and time.

A sudden, seductive curiosity tugged at me, irresistible in its insistence. With a whisper, I cast Identify.

Voss Heavy Industries Shop Sign

Durability: 3478/7000

A laugh burst from my lips, long and loud, echoing eerily across the silent sands and the broken battlefield. It consumed me so thoroughly that several moments passed before I noticed one of my men cautiously approaching.

Of course…

“What is it?” I snapped sharply, irritation edging my voice.

The soldier halted respectfully and removed his helmet to address me. "Congratulations, First Tamkar, samasa," he greeted, awe clear in his hesitant tone.

“Yes, yes, get on with it. What news?”

“There is a messenger,” he stammered, eyes flickering nervously between me and a distant point. "He claims to bear urgent tidings..."